


Frozen Fire

by TheSelfHatingAngelOfThursday



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Although he does cut himself, Angst, Anyways, Blood, Castiel POV, Cutting(Non self harm), Dean Winchester is a Dick, Drug Use, Endverse, Endverse Grace Addiction, Grace Addiction, Ha AO3 suck my nonexistent dick that's not an established tag is it, Hurt No Comfort, I don't always write him like this I SWEAR, I suppose, I'm Sorry, IT WAS AN ACCIDENT, If self harm triggers you please don't read this, If you're worried about this fic send me an ask on tumblr with your concerns, Internalized Homophobia, Knife Play, M/M, because Endverse, get on my level, homophobic slur, no happy ending, unhealthy relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-17
Updated: 2021-02-17
Packaged: 2021-03-12 08:07:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,746
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29506680
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheSelfHatingAngelOfThursday/pseuds/TheSelfHatingAngelOfThursday
Summary: Dean has a grace addiction, and even though Cas knows it's nothing more than that, an addiction, he is more than willing to give Dean what he wants.It's the end, after all.
Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester, Endverse Castiel/Endverse Dean Winchester
Comments: 9
Kudos: 24





	Frozen Fire

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! It's a pleasure to... well, not see you, but you know what I mean.  
> I'd like to start this off by saying this is in no way a healthy, functioning relationship. It's something that was stuck in my brain and, well, I let it out.  
> Also, if you have any triggers, especially self harm or blades, you may want to turn back now. If you're unsure, you can send me an ask @theselfhatingangelofthursday, and I'll tell you whether or not your trigger or just overall sensitive topic is discussed, as well as add it to my trigger list. Please, don't worry about annoying me, I want to make your experience as a reader as pleasurable as possible.  
> This fic isn't very nice to Cas(I do think it does him justice, I just think I. Put him through shit) and Dean is... a less than pleasurable person to be around. Writing this made me seethe at him myself. (There is good, implied reasoning for it, though. If you want, you can ask about it!) So if that's not your thing, I understand. No judgement here.  
> On that note, enjoy! <3

Cas doesn’t smoke on his own.

He just doesn’t.

It’s useless, it’s stupid, and if he can’t be high and drowning himself in the pleasures of the flesh at the same time?

What’s the fucking point, right?

Except.

Except when Dean’s on his raids. On his searches. 

The stupid, meaningless things. Nevertheless, Dean won’t stop going on them. So once a week, Dean goes on a raid, and instead of filling a room with rancid fog and naked bodies, Cas lays on his own, and smokes.

He does this, because he knows if he’s alone, he’ll get to see a glimpse of Dean.

Not the empty shell he sees daily.

Not the dead man who occupies his bed on cold nights.

Dean. 

So Cas sits now (well, more like half-lays) on his bed, a joint resting between his fingers, his eyes closed, and his legs crossed at the ankles.

He lets out a long sigh, the edges of which are tinged with smoke, and he closes his eyes, stretching his legs a bit and allowing a lopsided smile to rest uncomfortably on his face.

He sits there, just like that, for quite some time. The only movement in the room is his arm, swinging in and out, in and out, occasionally allowing Cas a taste of the treasure it holds.

It won’t be long, now.

* * *

Cas knows when Dean rolls in. He hears the old vehicles on the dirt roads. He hears the cracking open of a can or a bottle. He hears deep, rumbling voices.

But no Dean.

No, the first thing Cas hears from Dean is a gasped, “Cas-” and the slam of a door opening. 

“Hello, Dean.” Cas says, and he immediately stands, stretching his arms over his head in preparation.

He even puts out his blunt.

A damn good one, too.

Cas opens a drawer, and flips the blade inside on pure instinct. 

He hands it to Dean, handle first.

He hears Dean’s shuddered breath as he takes the blade, his hand clenching on it. His eyes don’t move from Cas’ the entire time. They don’t break eye contact once, actually. Well, not until Dean crashes into Cas, full force. 

He’s grabbed Cas by the collar of his mostly unbuttoned shirt, and he’s pulled him in roughly, tugging and kneading at Cas’ lips with his own.

_ God _ , it’s been weeks.

He should stop using that expression.

Well, fuck, it’s not like anyone’s around to care.

It has been weeks, though. 

Cas hasn’t felt Dean’s lips on his own in almost a month.

Dean’s usually straight to business. A cut to the wrist, right to the good stuff. Sometimes, if Dean’s feeling nice, or especially good, or especially shitty, he’ll let Cas convince him to stay the night.

Cas doesn’t even have to ask this time.

Cas is grateful, because while Dean’s addiction is inside of Cas, Cas’ addiction  _ is _ Dean.

Dean’s hands are rough at Cas’ waist, holding him in close as Dean bites down on Cas’ lower lip. 

It draws blood, not grace, and he can hear a slight noise of frustration from the man before him.

Dean’s roughness- at least with his mouth- ceases for a moment.

He draws his tongue, gently, over the bite mark on Cas’ lip. He whispers an apology, before returning to his previous tempo. 

His hands work at the buttons on Cas’ shirt, and Cas grins against Dean’s lips when it falls.

Dean certainly hasn’t done this of his own accord in quite a while.

So Cas can’t help his grin.

He doesn’t do that much these days. He has to savor it.

Dean pushes Cas back down and straddles his waist, suddenly seeming to remember the blade in his hand.

Cas puts his arms back and tilts his head toward the ceiling, putting his chest on display for Dean.

Dean presses a single kiss to the center of his chest, just between his collarbones. One last tender display, before a sharp pain shoots from Cas’ chest through his body. It doesn’t last long, he’s used to it, but his chest is sensitive.

Then again, it holds his grace.

Dean knows what he’s doing.

Warm lips close over the long wound on Cas’ chest, and both men let out a soft sigh. Relief, maybe. Pleasure, even? 

Cas doesn’t put too much thought into it. He doesn’t dare. 

He simply places his hand on the back of Dean’s head, sifting his fingers through his hair in a gentle comfort.

More gentle comforts come with his words.

“It’s okay, baby. You’re okay.”

“I’m here with you.”

“Is that better? Just let me know.”

Dean strays from the wound occasionally- he never does that, what the fuck?- and presses light, peppered kisses to Cas’ chest and neck and throat, and even his shoulders. He cuts into other spots, one on Cas’s shoulder, one on the lower side of his pec, one above his stomach. He rotates between the spots and what’s between them.

Every time he closes his lips around the cut directly on his chest, though, Cas can feel it. Feel his grace draining.

He can feel how much he’s being used, too. And he can’t find it in him to care.

As Cas begins to wear thin, Dean heals. He cleans, he bulks up, he even looks well fed. After a while, Cas could swear he’s glowing. 

Cas takes it all. When Dean cuts into Cas’ thigh, he even gets something out of it- Dean’s a selfless man, after all- and when Dean cuts into his throat, Cas lets out a breathy sigh. It’s not bad. And it’s Dean. 

Why-  _ How _ could he say no to Dean?

Eventually, Dean gets tired. He can, after a long session like this. And Cas is fucking exhausted. So Cas takes the blade from Dean, and he slices one long cut up his arm, from his wrist to the inside of his elbow. 

He watches a faint light glow out from underneath, and he smiles, very slightly, and he offers his arm to Dean.

Dean, who has been centered at Cas’ chest and lazily rolling his hips- likely for Cas’ sake, though he doesn’t much care- looks up, then at Cas’ arm.

He silently thanks Cas, before pushing Cas back to lay down. Cas obliges, watching Dean.

Dean maneuvers Cas’ arm to rest palm up, before laying flat on his stomach. He presses kisses up and down Cas’ arm, before settling on a comfortable spot and wrapping his lips around it.

The gentle suction of Dean’s lips around Cas’ wrist has Cas closing his eyes again. He turns to his side so as to run a hand through Dean’s hair again, because he can’t help himself. There’s an occasional tug- either from a knot in Dean’s hair or on purpose- but it stays gentle and smooth, most of the time.

This time he stays silent, just exploring the back of Dean’s head and the sides of his face with Cas’s free hand. The silence, in itself, is quite loud, actually.

Dean lets out a little pleased sigh, and Cas returns it. Cas can imagine, for just a second.

He can go back, to the first time.

Cas had the idea. He offered himself to Dean.

And the way Dean’s whole chest fluttered and his eyes squeezed shut? Cas could feel it in his own heart.

He can imagine Dean still thanks him. Still returns the favor in an ecstasy only Cas can offer him. 

So once again he’s drifting, the only feelings in the world being Dean on his arm, and the tight squeeze in his chest.

He should have finished his damn joint.

* * *

Cas’ drifting is interrupted by Dean moving. The man shifts, kissing up along the cut on Cas’ arm in what appears to be quiet apology, quiet thanks.

“Dean-“ Cas whispers, in that broken, croaking voice of his.

Dean shakes his head, kissing up to Cas’ shoulder. His hand runs down Cas’ chest, but it stops at the middle of his stomach. He looks up at Cas, and Cas sucks in one long breath, before placing his hand over Dean’s, holding it still.

Dean looks at him, his brows furrowed, before he shifts in closer to Cas, resting his head on Cas’ shoulder and locking their fingers together.

Dean makes a noise that Cas blocks out, because Dean always says something now. Something empty. A thank you, an I’m sorry.

This time, it sounds eerily- terrifyingly- close to an I love you.

So Cas closes his eyes, clenches his teeth, and pulls Dean close. 

“Go to sleep, Dean.”

* * *

Cas wakes up cold.

He does that often nowadays.

But this time, there’s a presence in the room nevertheless, and it makes Cas close his eyes again and wince.

“Dean-“ Cas starts, but he gets cut off by the sharp rubbing of rough leather against itself as Dean laces up his boots.

Cas looks at Dean where he sits. He’s on the edge of the bed, leaning over and putting himself back together.

Cas doesn’t even remember Dean taking off his boots.

“Cas, shut the fuck up.” Dean mutters, standing and grabbing his holster. 

Dean continues putting himself together, faster now as he rushes to leave Cas’ cabin.

Cas listens, and he sits up, his mouth closed. He looks down at himself, running his fingertips over his scabs and scars.

He doesn’t even heal anymore.

He  _ can’t _ .

He looks at Dean, and the man still glows with health. Cas can even see a slight shadow of the man he used to know.

That ends, soon.

Dean walks away from the bed, his jaw set and tense. Cas glances at Dean’s hands, and notices them clenched, even to the point that his knuckles are a ghostly white.

The same ghostly white Cas is sure his whole body looks as Dean turns around with a cool glare.

“I don’t love you.”

“I know.”

“I couldn’t give less fucks about you.”

“I know, Dean.” 

Cas watches Dean’s jaw clench and grind into itself, before he spits out, “Fag,” and turns on his heel.

Cas sighs, closes his eyes, and lays back.

“I know, Dean.” He says with a light, tired smile. It’s empty, and dead, but it gives off the air of being real as he gently runs his fingers over the open skin on his chest; the only remaining evidence of Dean’s presence, and the only remaining evidence of his departure.

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you enjoyed Frozen Fire. You can let me know what you think in the comments, or @theselfhatingangelofthursday on tumblr!


End file.
